To Life!
by Stuart Johnson
Summary: He was wild, untamed, and living life at a breakneck pace. She was calm, quiet, and pent up in her own emotions. When the two of them were put together, they realize they still have much to learn about life.
1. Arival

A/N Okay, so I figured I'd do a little Fanfic writing in my spare time, and this idea has been stuck in my head for about a month now. Yes, it does involve an OC character, and yes there is an OCxCanon pairing, but don't write it off just yet!

Oh, and don't start saying that my OC is a Gary Stu, especially by his description. I write everybody a deep introduction, so don't pull that card on me.

The story takes place during the gangs high school years, but Miss Frizzle is still their science teacher, and they will still behave like the third graders we know and love.

Now lets get on with it!

* * *

She strode into the whitewalled classroom with a confident gait. Her beehive of hair towered above her forehead, with every hair out of place. It seemed as though her hair simply refused to comply with her attempts at styling it, almost like it had a mind of its own. Below the mess of fuzz, was the short, sweet natured face that extended below it, complete with a slightly pointed nose, thin lips with a light pink coating, and two wide brown eyes. This head was perched upon a craning neck that swiveled about to take in the faces of her students, and as she did so a smile spread across her face. She took a brief moment to brush some stray mess from the seafoam green lab coat that covered her body. It was a stark contrast to the usual clothing she wore, with its designs of whatever science subject she had selected for the day, but it kept the dirt and liquid from seeping through, so it was a useful trade.

This was Miss Frizzle, the brilliant and famously wacky teacher from Walker Elementary, now moving up in her career as a worker at Walker High. As she looked out over her latest batch of freshmen, she spied several familiar faces that had once been part of her third grade class.

There was Wanda, the tomboyish Asian American. She sat right up front, rapping her fingers on her desk in nervous anticipation. Above her almond eyes, there lay a mess of straight, rich black hair that fell neatly down her neck and temples. A few locks of it spilled over into her face, obscuring the view of her right eye, though it didn't seem to bother her. Her form was clad with a pink T-shirt, that extended just past the rim of her blue-jeans. Overlaying her shirt was her faded red vest, which had been trimmed and refitted due to her instant pleading with her parents.

Behind her sat Arnold, the "Doubting Thomas" of the group. He sported a bright polo shirt, striped with yellow and white, with long sleeves that covered all of the flesh upon his white arms. Curly, ginger colored hair covered his head, and was nearly as frayed as the Friz's hair, though not nearly to her extent. His cheeks were spotted with brown patches, his freckles, which he still had despite the fact that it was the middle of winter. His brown eyes were glossed over with untainted glass, set within the square frame of his glasses, which balanced upon the very tip of his nose as he leafed through a comic book.

A single desk back was Ralph, though nearly everybody called him Ralphie. He was a bit more muscular than the others, due in part to his massive involvement in athletics. Baseball, football, and basketball, were the three he had chosen to compete in this year, though they weren't nearly all those that interested him. His head was covered with a neatly trimmed head of hair, just centimeters from being considered a buzz cut, though he hid that beneath his crimson baseball cap, which was always turned backwards. He claimed that he did this to keep the sweat out of his eyes, though there was no real reason for it while there was snow on the ground. His chest was covered with a neon green Tee, emblazoned with a bright red "R" upon the breast. His palms were in the pockets of his cargo shorts, as he mentally dozed off, trying to catch up on the sleep he had missed the night before.

Taking up the very rear was Phoebe, who sat doodling a picture of a raccoon in her notebook. She brushed aside some stray eraser bits as she scribbled the signature mask of the creature into place. Her love for animals was legendary, as was her shy disposition. She had been the new girl back when they were in third grade, and that reputation had stuck with her. She had branched out a bit, but still stayed within her shell. She gave her head a little scratch, weaving her fingers into the short, lightly curled, brunette mass atop her head. A sunny gold colored headband kept the hair from falling into her face, and made it appear to be longer than what was being shown. The band matched the undershirt she wore beneath her rosy blouse.

Beside her, was the class clown, Carlos. The never serious Hispanic with a bad pun for every occasion. His mop top of black hair fell lazily at all angles, like a balloon had had lost its inflation. He was leaned back casually in his desk, clothed in a navy blue, hooded, sweatshirt, and blue jeans to match. His tennis shoes were up on the pedestal of the seat, and were crossed in his usual fashion. He, like Ralphie, was currently catching a few Z's that he had omitted before hand. Truthfully, he had stayed up past midnight again fueling his latest video game obsession, _Call of Honor VII_. Then again, ThegreatR143 (Ralphies online user name) had been online as well, so it was understandable why he was exhausted.

Ahead of him, was an empty seat. It hadn't been filled at the start of class, but there was always room for one more.

In front of the empty chair, sat Dorthy Ann, better known as DA. She was thoroughly immersed in the Human Genome Project, which was outlined in the book which rested upon her desk. She was rarely, if not never, seen without a book in her clutches, usually written on a science subject that all others found boring. However as the class bookworm, as well as brainiac, she could never find a dull moment in the world of Physics, Genetics, or the Theory of Relativity. She had done her sandy blonde hair in a pair of pigtails, a childhood favorite of hers that just stuck with her. Her sky blue blouse came down to her shins, not too long, not too short, but somewhere in between. Just the way she liked things. Her midsection was covered by a pur-VIOLET sweater, that she seemed to have an endless supply of.

Seated before her, was Kesha. She was the pessimist of the bunch, always looking with a "Glass is Half Empty" perspective. In her eyes, there was a kink to every plan, that could never be ironed out, and thus the entire plan was eventually doomed to failure. Her hair was chocolate brown, though against her skin it seemed slightly darker, and pulled back in a ponytail, the tip of which just graced the end of her neck. Her shirt was a regal purple, with a single streak of neon blue cutting it diagonally. Below the shirt, was her jeans, which had grown faded and worn, now with several threadbare patches dotting the denim.

Then came Tim, the final member of their classroom family. He was an African-American, with skin of ebony and shortly trimmed black hair. He was typically the logical one in the group, always wishing to take his time and find the perfect solution to every problem. Of course, around here, things very rarely moved at Tim's pace, and had no time for exact measurements and split second timing. He was clad in jeans, much like the rest of the group, as well as a dark blue sweater. At the moment, he was sketching out a drawing on some scrap paper he had found. Unlike Phoebe's hastily doodled raccoon, his drawing was of himself, and was much more detailed, as he plotted out each stroke and stab with his pencil.

At the head of this bunch, Mrs. Frizzle once again cracked a smile at her old students, then opened her mouth to speak.

"Good morning class." She paused as greetings were reiterated back to her, then went on, "I have some very special news for you all today.'

"Is it a field trip?" Wanda replied, the anticipation showing on her face as well as in her voice.

Arnold's heart skipped a beat as he heard those last few words. Without warning, a cold sweat washed over his back and neck, as every muscle in his body suddenly tensed. He began to feel sick, as though his stomach had just turned inside out. He shut his eyes, folded his moist palms upon each other, and said a silent prayer that she would say no.

"I'm afraid not Wanda," There was an audible groan of distaste from the others, and a sigh of sweet relief from Arnold, "But, we're finally going to be filling that desk that's been empty all year."

"You mean...We're getting..." DA managed to stammer, nearly biting her tongue in the process.

"You're absolutely right," The Frizz took a slight hop backwards, taking a seat upon her desktop in the process, "Class I'd like you to meet Jeremiah, he's going to be starting school with us today."

All eyes were on the door, waiting for this newcomer to show himself.

He entered without a word, and stood at the foot of the teachers desk for a moment. His hair was untamed, curling off in every direction as though it were unaccustomed to being combed. It fell to his neck in an unkempt heap, and from there fanned out over the area. It was a tinged orange hue, with some spots appearing lighter and darker than others under the glow of the fluorescent bulbs from above. He bore hazel colored eyes, and both seemed frosted over, as though he were in a state of perpetual drunkenness. His clothes were a size to large for him, as his jeans seemed as though they were ready to fall right off his body, and were held up only by a tightly drawn black belt. He bore a black T-shirt, with two red streaks that circled around his sleeves.

"Why don't you tell us a little about yourself, Jeremiah." The teacher prodded, attempting to get the student to talk.

"Hallo daar. Mijn naam is..." He spoke, obviously in a foreign tongue.

"In English, not Dutch."

He hesitated, as though he wished to remain silent.

"Jeremiah..." She gave him a stare that could bore through solid steel, much less get him to talk, "Either you tell them about yourself, or I'll do it for you."

"Oh, come on Mom!" He blurted out in response.

The other students were suddenly slack jawed in sheer shock. Mrs. Frizzle had a son? She had never mentioned him before, or maybe she had somewhere in that long list of relatives she had always referred to. Why hadn't he been attending school all along? It wouldn't make much sense for him to have gone to any other school in the area, not when his mother was teaching at Walker.

Back at the head of the class, the Frizz and her kid stared each other down, their eyes locked in a display of mental warfare. But, only a few seconds in, the elder won the battle of the eyes.

"Alright, alright I'll talk." He took a deep breath, then began, "My name is Jeremiah Frizzle. But you can call me Jerem, or Jerry, or that Jerk. The reason I never attended school with the rest of you was because I was educated at a boarding school in the Netherlands, which is also why I speak some Dutch."

He paused taking a look at the students he would be working with for the next four years of his life.

"As far as I can see, there is no psychotic space cadet in the class yet, so I will be filling that position." His words brought forth a few laughs from the group, as well as a smile gracing the corner of his mouth, "Anyone who would like to disagree, feel free to do so."

He strode quickly to the empty desk between Carlos and Dorthy Ann, taking his seat without hesitation. As he sat, he turned instinctively to Carlos.

"Why is a Raven like a writing desk?" He quoted from Alice in Wonderland, stealing the unanswerable riddle of the Mad Hatter.

Carlos could only stare back as he replied.

"I have no idea."

"Because there is a B in both, and an N in neither." Jerem chuckled, obviously the only one who understood this joke.

"You're crazy." The Hispanic smiled at the stupidity of the riddle, "I have a feeling we're going to get along just fine."

The two slapped hands, a sure sign that what Carlos had said was going to come true.

* * *

Alright, that's what I got for chapter 1! Please review or...I'll blow up the internet!

DO IT! DO IT NAUGH!


	2. Rivalry

Well, after submitting my first chapter, I'm pleased to say that your reviews convinced me to write a second chapter!

So, in the immortal words of some man of no importance, "Let's start the show!"

* * *

Shortly later, the bell rang, casting its clanging clamor through the halls of Walker High. The sharp alarm sound signaled the ending of the current period, as well as the end of the school day, considering this was the last period.

The students filed out of the room and down the hallways. All the students, except Jeremiah. He seemed in no hurry to get anywhere fast, instead rising up at a sluggish rate. He yawned, as though he were breaking out of the seemingly drunken state he had been in for the whole period. With a staggered stride, he made his way to the door but was stopped by his frizzy haired mother.

"See, that wasn't as bad as you thought it would be, was it?" She said, placing a hand on his shoulder.

He shrugged off her palm, refusing to look up at her.

"Why did you make me act like your son out there?" He replied, keeping his sights glued to the floor.

"Well, you are. It isn't pretending, you really are."

"No." He pushed her aside, "I'm not."

He slipped by and wandered into the hallway. Without bothering to look back, he gave one final comment, as though he wished to put a nail in the coffin that the conversation had slipped into.

"No matter how much I wish it so, it simply isn't true." With those parting words, he shut the door that led into the chemistry lab.

* * *

To be truthful, Jerem had no idea where he was going to go after wandering off like that. He didn't want to go home, and that was the only place he knew thus far. Perhaps he should have gone off with Carlos, at least then he would've had someone to hang around with.

He had led himself to the park, which immediately caught his eye. Although it was mid-January and covered with snow, the structures that made up the playground were still plainly visible. The bright yellow plastic and metal slide had been drizzled in white, and was tipped with crystalline icicles that dangled from every exposed outcrop. The same was true for the swing set, as its seats were now topped with unbroken ivory cushions of freshly fallen flakes. The see-saw too, had been coated in the delicate fluff, giving the entire park a new look.

Dotting the scene of pallid landscape, was a series of footprints that ran a short distance into the meadow. The prints led to the feet of Phoebe, one of his classmates. She had a seat on one of the swings, as well as a perfect seat to overlook the icy woods.

He took a few steps, then stood behind her, feet firmly planted in the crunching snow.

The girl turned as the symphony of crackles graced her ears, coming face to face with the new student. She let out a slight gasp, and nearly fell off the swing in shock.

"Yeah," Jerem smiled, "That's the reaction I usually get."

"Sorry about that." She gave a slightly nervous smile, "You snuck up on me."

The Dutch boy brushed the snow from the rubber seat, planting himself on the swing beside her.

"You're...Phoebe?" he questioned, still a bit uncertain of the names of his classmates.

"You got it." She replied, "And your name is..."

"Jeremiah, but just call me Jerem."

"All right, Jerem." She repeated the name, letting it sink into her memory, "So, what brings you to the Walkerville Park today?"

"The usual," He leaned back, letting himself swing forward a little, "Looking for something to do. Figured I may as well check here, see what's going on here."

"I guess that's a good enough reason." Phoebe said, following suit and pumping her legs to start the pendulum motion of her swing.

"So, what's your excuse?"

"Everyone needs a little place to retreat. I guess this is mine." She spoke as she veered up and down, "Quiet, natural, and a nice place to think."

"Hold that thought." Jerem leapt from the swing, landing with a muffled thump upon the snowy earth.

He stared downrange at a small furry creature that twitched with every passing second.

"SQUIRREL!" The new kid shouted as he took off at a sprint towards the little animal.

Making one swift maneuver, he hurled himself forward in a sudden attempt to capture the squirrel. Unfortunately for him, the little beast was much faster than he, and was safely out of his clutches before he could lay a hand on it. He landed on the snow with a thump, and remained there for a split second as the creature scampered off.

"You win this round fluffy!" His voice came out rather stifled, as he had yet to remove it from the white carpet, "Oh, but we shall meet again!"

He lifted himself from the ground, shook the fluff off, and strode calmly back to where Phoebe sat on the swing. He took his seat beside her again, an odd look on his face.

"Sorry you had to see that." He said to her, clearing his throat, "My ADHD must be acting up again."

"You have ADHD?" Phoebe questioned, lifting one eyebrow.

"If that means I can't focus, have insane amounts of energy, and tend to space out, than yes."

"Well, sound's like you've got it."

"Thus the reason I introduced myself as a psychotic space cadet."

Before she could reply to his commentary the two of them (As well as the silence in the park) were interrupted by the voice of another student.

"Hey, hey, hey! Phoebe! How's it going?"

They turned to face a male, at least a head taller than Jeremiah, and several times as muscular. He was well toned, obviously due to his involvement in school athletics. The claim that he was an athlete was further supported by the fact that his light red hoodie read, "Walker High Wrestling" across the front. A closer investigation of his clothing revealed more lettering imprinted upon the rear, this time with the slogan, "Pin Everyone, Fear Nothing." From his ears sprouted two snaking black wires, which ran their course to his hip, where an MP3 player was suspended in his pocket. His eyes were like steel, tinted slightly to an aqua color, though it seemed overshadowed by the intense determination that they showed.

"Oh," Phoebe's voice took on a decidedly quieter tone, "Hi Nathan."

He jogged over to her, stepping just between her and the Dutch kid.

"So," He placed an arm around her, obviously to her dismay, "You got an answer for me yet?"

As he spoke, he leaned in closer, making her all the more uncomfortable.

"I already told you no." She shrugged off his arm and rose to her feet, starting to leave the area.

"Oh come on," He cut off her escape route, stepping ahead of her as she crossed him,"If you want more time..."

"I don't need more time." She slipped past him, only to have Nathan make a quick turn and halt her again, "You just need to take no for an answer."

"Why?"

"Why? Why should I go out with someone like you?"

"Well," He seemed to take on an air of superiority as he began the typical, We have ways of doing things here, when a Sophomore like me asks out a freshman like you, blah blah blah, sort of speech.

Jerem was already in his own world, trying to mentally sort things out here. This guy liked Phoebe, Phoebe didn't like him. It seemed simple in that sense, but the fact that he knew so little about the two of them complicated everything beyond his brain's capacity. They fought back and forth, one wishing to leave, and the other trying to hook a girlfriend in the process. That feeling of exclusion he knew so well began to creep in on him as the two argued. He had to do something, but had no idea what.

Finally, he knew what he had to do. He had picked his side, and rose to aid his newfound friend.

"C'mon," Nathan had yet to relent in his verbal assault, and continued to plead his case, "Just gimme a chance."

Before Phoebe had a chance to refute him again, the new student had planted his palm upon the jocks chest.

"I believe she said, no." He said in a spiteful tone, his semi clouded gaze never fluttering, "And I think she would like you to leave."

"Who the heck are you?' His muscular opponent retorted, pushing off the hand that had been placed on him.

"Let me rephrase that," Jerem refused to answer, "I would like you to leave, she would like you to leave, so get lost."

"And who's going to make me?" Nathan spat, giving the Dutch boy a shove.

The smaller student's hand suddenly shot out making contact with his foe's temple. The jock recoiled slightly after the blow, which gave Jeremiah just enough time to continue the combo, this time roundhousing his combatant and striking him in the gut. Now doubled over, the larger boy was met with another clenched fist to the jaw, which sent him sprawling sidewards.

The attacker backed up for a few seconds, fists still clenched and ready to fight.

"At my old school, Klasse voor Weekindren, we studied the French martial art of Savate." He flaunted, while at the same time attempting to intimidate his opposition,"I took that class for three years."

Without warning, the wrestler suddenly whipped around, striking him across the cheek with a backhand blow. Taken off guard, Jerem staggered backwards, spreading his arms for balance. Rushing forward, Nathan planted a foot behind him, then struck him across the face with his forearm, knocking him to the earth in the process.

"Brazilian Ju-Jitsu," He said, planting a foot on his now downed enemy, "Six years of practice."

Jerem rolled out from under the leg of his foe, rising up with fist extended for an uppercut. He found his wrist caught however, as the stronger lad sidestepped the blow and locked his appendage in his palm. Twirling his captured prize, he twisted the Dutch boy into a painful arm lock, nearly snapping the joint in the process. With that, he shoved him forward, nearly ramming his skull into the nearby swing set.

The new pupil lashed out again, this time with a high roundhouse, but again his strike was countered, as his combatant ducked beneath the attack. In the same motion, he lunged forth, hooking the heel as he leapt to his feet. With no leg to stand on, Jeremiah was dropped once more, slamming against the snowy ground with a muffled thump. Pushing himself to his knee, he executed a coup de pied bas, or a low kick, attempting to sweep the feet of his opponent. Nathan skipped back, narrowly avoiding the assault, but in the process allowing the assailant to heft himself to his feet.

The jock switched to a more aggressive state of mind, blocking a left hook as he advanced into his enemy, then hurled himself forth, wrapping both arms around Jerem's waist as he did so. With one massive toque, he spun his body to the right, knocking the legs from beneath his competition with his own. Now with nothing holding him to the ground, the Dutchman was released, sending him crashing back down again.

"I'm getting tired of standing around playing footsies with you." Nathan shot, obviously unphased by his opponent's fighting, "I'm going home. Call ya later Feeb."

He turned on his heel and began to jog off, but Jeremiah wasn't ready to give up just yet. He snapped back to his feet, racing towards his enemy with waning strength. He cocked his fist back, prepared to clout his opponent across the skull, but his strike was never delivered. Before he could throw his punch, the wrestler planted an elbow in his stomach, causing him to double over. He never had a chance to bend, however, as a hand suddenly whipped up and beat him across the jaw. A split-second later, two arms had snaked back and taken hold of his wrists. With one clean stroke, he felt his body being turned over in mid air, just before he was thrust down to the carpet of white that lay below.

"You said you were Dutch, right?" Nathan said, watching as the snow around his foe began to turn red, "Well, welcome to America."


	3. Midnight Rumination

A/N Well, I actually continued writing this, So thank you for your reviews!

Jerem lay bleeding in the snow, his lips and chin dripping with crimson blood. His cries were stifled by the snow that had filled in his mouth. Nathan had long since disappeared, leaving his beaten opponent to ponder his defeat. Phoebe had remained at his side, attempting to help him to his feet.

"That was really brave of you." She commented as he lifted him back to his feet, "I mean, you barely know me, and you stuck up for me."

"Brave, but pointless." Jeremiah replied, shrugging her off. He took a few steps away from her, before turning his eyes to the setting sun.

"Pointless or not, you still..."

"You still tried?" he scoffed, "Attempts mean nothing. Without results all it is, is failure, failure, failure. mijn enige optie is niet!"

Phoebe was silent for a moment, unsure of how to respond. The fact that he was speaking Dutch again made it hard enough, but the message he was sending made it near impossible. So, doing what she did best, she became silent. Jerem however, was all talk, as he flew into an intense rage, cursing in his native tongue, kicking at the snowbanks, and raising his voice to a near scream. His motions became eratic, as he flailed about, striking his hands and feet at anything that came near to him.

He turned back to Phoebe, his eyes wild, his lips and nose dribbling blood, and his face controted with insane rage.

"I'm sorry you have to see this." He turned his gaze towards the ground, "I'll be going home now."

He began to make his way back towards his house...though he had almost no idea where that was.

It took him around an hour to wander his way back home. He could see the two story, saltbox style home, coated in wood paneling on the outside, and a beautiful wrap around porch that covered the entire front of the house. Various lawn ornaments adorned the grass, ranging from flamingos and gnomes, to lizards and race cars dotted the landscape, leaving little to no land actually uncovered by a figurine or two. It was as if Ms. Frizzle had attempted to compensate her lack of yard space by filling it with decorative statues. One large divided window stood on the side facing him, and though the shades were drawn, he could tell that the lights were on inside the house.

"Great, just what I need." The Dutch boy thought, still trying to clean the dried blood from his face.

He ascended the porch, hesitating a bit as he took the doorknob in his sweating palms. Dare he enter here? Though this was his new home, he felt unwelcome here, as though he were in a strange land where everyone was out to get him. But what other options did he have? He wanted to run, run as far and fast as he could, to get away from it all.

Maybe he should have stayed with Phoebe, or perhaps gone home with another friend from his class, then he could have had an excuse not to return to his house tonight. He had to think of some way to get out of this. As he had been taught in Klasse voor Weekindren, "There is always a second option." But tonight, he just couldn't find that second option. Honestly, he could barely focus on the simple task of opening the door.

He looked down at his hand, and could see it violently quivering over the handle. There was no other choice. He had to go back home. He opened the door, and cautiously strode into the house. All was quiet as he entered, seeing no signs of Ms. Frizzle anywhere. He crept stealthily towards the stairs, for if he could reach them, and reach his room, he would be safe from questioning.

"Jeremiah?"

"Vloek." He thought as he heard her voice, "Yes, Ms. Frizzle?"

"I told you, call me mom." She spoke warmly.

"You are not my mother!" Jerem spat back, keeping his back turned to her.

"I am your mother." Ms. Frizzle replied, "You know that, and I know that."

"I wish it were true, I really do, but it just isn't."

"But it IS true! You need to let go Jerem! You're trying to hold onto things that aren't real!"

"No! You're the one who isn't real!" He screamed, whriling around to face her, "My mother, the one who birthed me, she was real! My father, he was real! But you? You have nothing to do with me. You aren't real!"

The redhead was silent for a moment, as though she were unsure of how to respond. "Jerem, I think you need to go to bed for the night."

He silently moved towards the stairs once more, only to have Ms. Frizzle get in the last word.

"That should give you some time to sleep off those battle wounds."

"Vloek."

An hour later, he still lay in his bed, wide awake. In his hands, he clutched a single peice of parchment that he kept with him at all times. It was a document that was important to him, not just because it held his identity, but because it was a consistant reminder of who he really was. It read, "Adoption Certificate: Mrs. Valerie Frizzle. Adoption of Son, Jeremiah Gaai Verward. Signed on the date of December 16, 2010."

He held that paper tight. It told him what was real, and what he knew to be a lie.

Halfway across Walkerville, a very different scene was taking place in Phoebe's home. She too lay in bed, though her thoughts were focused more on the fight that had taken place earlier that day. Why had the new student stood up for her? He didn't know her, and she barely knew him. Yet, for no apparent reason, he fought back when she could not. But...why? The same question was a constant nagging in her mind, and it was currently unrelenting. Had she impressed him with something she said, or perhaps with her looks?...No, that was stupid. She had barely spoken to him, and as for her looks, well, almost no one had ever cared to look at her.

Well, that wasn't completely true. People looked her way, and talked with her, but no one had every truly become close enough to get to know her. It was a rather humourous thought. Phoebe had been in their class for seven years, and yet she still behaved like an outsider. To be honest, it was mainly her own fault, considerring she had ignored her parent's goading about branching out. Instead, she had stayed in her little shell, confident that her first year at Walkerville Elementary would be her last. But then fourth grade came around, then fifth, and so on. She felt trapped, locked in a world that wasn't hers.

Of course, she had hoped to escape that feeling after graduating eighth grade, only to be oppressed by Nathan. Nathan wasn't a "bad" person, but he had a tendancy not to know when to shut up. In sports, he was undisputed, and had been taught never to accept defeat, no matter how much he went through to achieve that victory. He came on rather strongly, and was near relentless once he had set a goal. And at the moment, his goal was Phoebe. The old, "I am older, thus you listen to me," argument had been tossed about between the two of them for quite some time, but to no avail on either side. In this case, it seemed that no one could settle the argument between them. Until this Dutch boy came along and unbalanced their game of cat and mouse.

His arrival was begining to affect the others around him, whether or not he knew or cared about it.


	4. Prelude to the Madness

The next day came swiftly, and Jerem found it hard to drag himself out of bed. His eyelids felt like lead as he staggered to the shower. He finally made it, and turned on the water. It wasn't until it was too late that he realized that the valves were on the coldest setting, and he was blasted all over with freezing liquid. He made an attempt to readjust the setting, but as he took hold of it, slipped, twisting it to its highest level as he fell.

In an instant, the water changed from cold to hot, raining boiling streams upon the felled lad. Pulling himself out of the stream, he sighed and adjusted the heat to a more comfortable level. His body still ached from yesterdays rumble, and the fall he had just taken hadn't helped any. This was going to be a long day.

* * *

He walked to school that day, his feet traveling the well packed, snowy sidewalks. Ahead of him, he could see two figures, each about his size, heading in the same direction as he was. He quickened his stride, and quickly caught up to them. He recognized them as Carlos and Dorothy Ann, both of whom greeted him as he approached.

He nodded, but did not speak.

The two of them went back to their own conversation as if nothing had happened.

"So," Carlos spoke, sliding across a patch of ice, "Can I copy your answers for the Chemistry homework last night?"

"Why didn't you do it yourself?" She replied.

"I was busy."

"By busy, do you mean playing video games all night again?" Jeremiah jumped in, giving his friend a bit of a smile.

"...Maybe." He grinned sheepishly. "But you don't understand! Me and Ralphie..."

"So neither of you did your homework?" DA cut him off.

"Probably not."

"Great..." She hung her head a bit, "And why should I let you copy mine again?"

The Hispanic thought for a second. "Because we're best friends and friends share?"

"Yeah, not gonna work."

"I'd let you copy mine," Jerem said in a quiet voice, "Of course, I didn't actually do it, so there might be a problem.

"Oh, well thanks for getting my hopes up." Carlos replied, as the three of them reached the school.

* * *

Classes that day went by without much ado. In fact, most of the day could be considered normal. Well, as normal as things ever were in Walkerville. The hours droned on through each passing period, making the day feel much longer than it really was. Finally, the eighth hour came, and the final class was about to begin.

The Chemistry students filed in and took their seats. Soon, the classroom was filled with chatter, with each group conversing on a different subject. Of course, a certain group of them (Certain group being Carlos, Ralphie, and Jeremiah) were a bit worried about their undone homework, and still trying to convince someone to let them copy down the answers, but to no avail.

Carlos had just convinced Wanda to give him her answers, and was hastily trying to copy them onto his own paper, when the bell rang. As if waiting for her cue, Mrs. Frizzle burst forth from the laboratory storage closet, her smile as big as it had ever been.

"Good morning class!" She strode to the front of the room, turning with a flourish to face her students. She caught a glimpse of the lad copying his work, and promptly made her way to his desk. "Forget to do your homework last night Carlos?"

"Well, you see...There's a funny story about that actually. You see, I was going to do it, but..." He stammered, trying to think of an excuse, "Well, I was so excited for chemistry, that I spilled acid on my paper, and accidentally disintegrated my work."

"I see." The Friz smiled and gave him a wink, "Well, since Carlos here melted his homework, I guess I have no choice but to not grade it today."

Ralphie breathed a sigh of relief, leaning back in his desk as he did so.

"So, if we're not grading the homework, what're we gonna do for the rest of the hour?" Wanda asked, turning in her desk to face her teacher.

"Well," She replied, placing a hand on her chin in thought, "I was thinking we could go..."

The sound of Arnold's head slamming against his desk told them he knew what was coming next.

"...On a field trip!"

* * *

Moments later, they had filed into the bus and were on their way to whatever destination that Mrs. Frizzle had chosen. None of them truly knew where they were going, but hey, it got them out of class, so they were okay with it. Well, everyone but Arnold was okay with it. He sat in his usual seat, right behind the driver, where he conversed with their teacher as she drove.

"So, Mrs. Frizzle, where are we going?" He questioned, resting his arms on the back of her chair.

"Just a wonderful little place where we can see chemistry in action." She replied, sliding the wheel to the left and bringing the vehicle around a gentle curve.

"So you're not going to tell me are you?"

"Well, that would ruin the surprise."

"Great." He sighed, falling back in his seat in exasperation. Having a teacher as crazy as she was had begun to take its toll on him. Spring break could not be a more welcome event in his future.

The teacher reached for the gearshift and gave it a tug. The metallic bus shuddered and quaked, as a small pair of wings began to take shape on the outside. The grill on the front end began to extend, as the bars began to shift into the form of a spinning rotor. The rear windows were suddenly obscured, as a massive jet engine, which spewed a flaming tail behind their bus, accelerating it way beyond the speed limit. From the wings too, a second and third turbine began to form, propelling them off the road and into the sky.


End file.
